


The Get-Along Jersey

by inkleafclover



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bad Romance, Bullying, Closeted Tsukki, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluffy Ending, HUGE misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Kinkmeme, Kuroo and Tsukki stuffed into a shirt wtf?, M/M, Mean Kuroo, Public Hand Jobs, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3893323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkleafclover/pseuds/inkleafclover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kuroo likes someone, he picks on them, but with Tsukki, he takes it too far. Still, maybe all this pain could've been avoided if Tsukki weren't so ashamed of what he feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Get-Along Jersey

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags and any warnings at the top. This is a work of (fan) fiction, and exists for entertainment purposes only.

“That was a good game!”

“You were like a _rocket_ , Shouyou!”

“Oy, did Kiyoko-san watch our match?”

“Kenma, can I borrow your deodorant?”

Tsukishima Kei sighed to himself, trying to ignore everyone else as he changed into fresh clothes. _Why do we have to share our club room with Nekoma?_ It was twice as loud — and twice as stinky — with two teams squeezed into such a small room. It wasn’t just that, though; Tsukishima never watched the other boys change. It always made him feel weird — and Tsukishima hated feeling weird.

Unfortunately for him, Nekoma was visiting for two days, which meant twice as many boys and half as much space in which to attempt to ignore them all. Nekoma was lodging in a nearby hotel, but as far as their practice matches were concerned, Karasuno only had the one club room. And so Tsukishima sighed, trying to pretend he was all alone.

“We’ll beat you tomorrow for sure.”

“Yeah, right!”

“Bring it on.”

Trying.

Tsukishima looked around for Yamaguchi as they all filed out of the club room, but he was nowhere to be found. _Huh._ Tsukishima shrugged, convincing himself that he wasn’t concerned as he followed the guys down the steps, keeping a bit of distance between them. As Nekoma shouted their goodbyes, however, he realized he’d forgotten his headphones. He took the steps two at a time — his height made it easy — sprinting back to the club room.

He found his headphones quickly: they were in his locker, right where he’d left them. When he turned to leave, however, he froze. There was someone standing in the doorway.

“What’s up, specs?” the figure greeted.

Tsukishima glared at Nekoma’s captain — Kuroo Tetsurou was his name — the one who always felt the need to poke at him during matches. “Do you need something?” Tsukishima asked.

“You’ve gotten a little better at blocking,” Kuroo said. “Not much better, though. You still don’t know how to use your height.”

Tsukishima bristled. “I couldn’t care less what you think.”

“Oh, so serious…”

Tsukishima made to walk past him, but Kuroo threw out an arm.

“Excuse me,” Tsukishima said tightly. “I want to leave...”

“Are the rumors true?”

Tsukishima paused. Kuroo wore a serious expression, but Tsukishima was wary. He felt like a rabbit approaching a trap. “What rumors?”

“That you’re gay.”

Tsukishima’s spine went rigid. _“What?”_

Kuroo cocked his head curiously. “So it’s true?”

“Of course it’s not true!” _What’s his game?_ Tsukishima fumed. _If he starts spreading gossip about me…_

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone—”

“There’s nothing to tell!” Tsukishima cried, trying to blow past him, but Kuroo was too strong. His arms were immovable.

“Oy, hold on…”

“If you don’t need anything, get out of my way.”

“Um…” Kuroo’s expression changed ever so slightly. “Actually…I did need something.”

“What?”

Kuroo met his eyes evenly. “Your phone number.”

Tsukishima couldn’t believe his ears. He fish-mouthed for several seconds, unable to form words. “Are…is this…are you…”

“Asking you out?” Kuroo finished.

Tsukishima stared at him, utterly at a loss. “I…”

“I am. Asking you out,” he said. Then he cracked a smile.

There it was. The joke. The punchline. So predictable. _The nerve…_ Tsukishima took a deep breath. “Fuck you!”

With that, he shoved past Kuroo, not even bothering to glance at his expression. Damn him! And he was Nekoma’s captain, too. _So immature_ , Tsukishima ranted, stomping past the gym as quickly as possible. _He should be kicked off the team…_ He looked back a few times to see if Kuroo was following him, but he was nowhere to be seen.

 _What did I ever do to him?_ Tsukishima brooded. He wondered if what Kuroo had said about the rumors was true. Tsukishima cursed himself for failing to keep his cool. Hadn’t he just confirmed them by exploding like that? He should’ve acted bored, like he didn’t care… What if Kuroo was the one spreading the rumors? Tsukishima couldn’t stop fretting over it all as he walked, futile though it was. After a while, he slowed, shaking slightly as he walked down the street toward the train station, sunset-orange clouds floating across the distant horizon.

That night, he dreamt.

He was naked in the locker room. Kuroo was there, and naked as well.

_Why…_

They approached each other slowly. Tsukishima felt robotic, as though his legs were carrying him. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a long time — hours. Years. He lost himself in those catlike eyes, curious and elusive and always _always_ enigmatic. Unreadable. Impenetrable. Even when Kuroo spoke his mind, those eyes never revealed his innermost designs.

After an eternity had passed, Kuroo finally leaned close, kissing Tsukishima on the lips. Tsukishima couldn’t move, couldn’t resist; Kuroo was water, but Tsukishima was stone. Kuroo’s lips were glove-soft. The mere touch of them sent tingles sliding down Tsukishima’s spine, leaving waves of warmth and dizziness in their wake like stones skipping across a pond.

The dream faded, giving way to a dark, familiar, real bedroom.

Tsukishima was lying in a puddle of his own sweat. The red numbers on the clock showed three in the morning. Grunting, he padded out of bed and down the hall toward the bathroom. When he went to pee, however, he realized he wasn't able to.

He masturbated quietly, bitterly, shaking with rage and desire and shame. Why? It was just a dream, and it was all Kuroo’s fault anyway. _He should definitely be kicked off the team…_ Of course, he _had_ to dream about the one guy he least wanted to dream about, the one guy who felt the need to poke at him constantly. It wasn’t fair.

And yet — Tsukishima was getting closer, panting, trembling. When he came, the same tingle threaded itself around the base of his spine, squeezing. He bit the inside of his cheek, hating himself. When he finally finished, he washed off his hands, then wiped himself down with a tissue. Able to pee at last, he relieved himself, then went back to bed.

It took him a while to get back to sleep. When he finally drifted off, uneasy dreams chased him, nipping at his ears and scratching at his heels.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t mind!”

“Toss!”

Nekoma was winning — but not by much. Coach Ukai had thrown Tsukishima onto the court somewhere around fifteen points, hoping to save them, but he was struggling. His teammates were doing well — blocking strong, receiving well — but he kept letting balls slip past. He wasn’t doing it on purpose. Something was weighing him down, keeping him closer to the earth.

And there were those eyes, watching him.

“Did you gain some weight, specs?” Kuroo taunted. “You seem a little heavy today.”

Tsukishima gritted his teeth, turning away. _Ignore him, ignore him…_ Even as he ignored him, however, a fragment from his dream surfaced — a glove-soft kiss — making him shiver.

“Chance ball!” someone on Nekoma shouted.

Tsukishima reacted just in time, turning to take his place among the blockers. Who would Kenma toss to?

Too late, Tsukishima took a wild guess, chasing after Yamamoto, but he was wrong; Kenma tossed it to Kuroo. With only two blockers in his way, he slammed the ball hard; it blasted passed them, crashing into Daichi’s arms and ricocheting out of bounds.

Nekoma cheered.

When Tsukishima looked up, Kuroo was staring right at him.

“Oy,” Kuroo called, “you try way too hard, specs. You really oughta loosen up if you want to win.”

Tsukishima snapped. Ducking under the net, he launched himself at Kuroo, grabbing him by his shirt collar.

“Oy!”

“Tsukki!”

His teammates cried out in alarm as all of Nekoma stared at him, shocked. Tsukishima didn’t move. He just _held on_ , anger radiating off him in waves. He wasn’t even sure what he’d intended to do; his arms were shaking, and the edges of his vision were fuzzing. Kuroo just stared at him, smug and unimpressed, a maddening smile plastered across his catlike face.

Someone blew a whistle.

“Oy!” Coach Ukai shouted, jogging up to the court. “What the hell are you doing, Tsukishima?”

Cursing himself, Tsukishima let go of Kuroo’s shirt, trying to regain his composure. Both teams stared at them, astounded, as the coaches skidded onto the scene, steam venting from their ears.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Coach Nekomata bellowed.

“Looks like specs here has an anger problem,” Kuroo said.

Tsukishima rounded on him, steaming. “You…”

“Tsukishima!” Coach Ukai shouted. “You realize this is more than enough to get you suspended, right?”

Tsukishima went quiet, flushing.

“Time out, everyone. Tsukishima, Kuroo. Bench.”

The two teams ambled around, whispering among themselves as Kuroo and Tsukishima shuffled off to the bench. Kuroo took a seat as though he didn’t have a care in the world, but Tsukishima remained standing, loath to get anywhere near him.

Ukai and Nekomata stood off to the side, conferencing in low voices.

Tsukishima stared at the ground, taking deep breaths. _I can’t believe I just did that_ … What had he been thinking? Yet again, Kuroo had broken through his composure, causing him to do something he regretted. _It’s all his fault…_

Two shadows fell over them. Tsukishima looked up, only to see Ukai and Nekomata standing before them wearing twin Cheshire grins. Tsukishima swallowed, sensing ill-intent.

“We’ve decided on your punishment,” Ukai said.

“It’s called the get-along jersey,” Nekomata added. “And you boys’ll be wearing it.”

“We’ll _both_ be wearing it?” Tsukishima echoed, horrified.

For the first time, Kuroo looked unsettled. “Oy, coach, this guy attacked _me_ …”

“You need to learn when to stop, Kuroo,” Coach Nekomata growled. “Being captain doesn’t mean you get to hassle whoever you want.”

“You’re getting off easy, Tsukishima,” Ukai stressed. “It’s never okay to physically attack anyone for any reason.”

Tsukishima hung his head, more angry at himself than anyone. He could hear Takeda-sensei rifling through the supplies room, searching for the so-called get-along jersey.

“This was one of Ikkei’s favorite punishments,” Nekomata said, chuckling. “Shame he couldn’t be here to see it.”

A few minutes later, Takeda-sensei emerged carrying a crumpled-up piece of cloth in his arms. When he shook it out, it flapped like an old sheet, moth-eaten and tattered and musty.

“Alright, boys,” Nekomata said, cackling. “Get in the jersey.”

They stared at it.

“I’d rather be suspended,” Tsukishima muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Tsukishima replied hurriedly, an angry flush creeping up his neck. The shirt was big, but not _that_ big. And they were supposed to…get inside…together….

Kuroo sighed. “Let’s get this over with. How long do we have to stay in?”

“One hour,” Coach Ukai said.

Tsukishima winced. _Please, no…_

But Kuroo didn’t even seem concerned anymore. He took the shirt from Takeda-sensei, slipping it over his head. It billowed around him. “Well, what are you waiting for, specs?”

Tsukishima bristled. He could hear titters behind him: the barely-suppressed laughter of his teammates. He supposed that was all part of the punishment. _I could just ask for the suspension…_

“Get in there, Tsukishima, or I’ll make it two hours!”

Starting, Tsukishima approached Kuroo on wooden legs, eyeing the jersey as though it were a bear trap. “How…am I supposed to…?”

Kuroo smiled. “Crawl up the back, of course.”

Tsukishima’s cheeks pinked. The longer he waited, the worse it would get, and he knew it. Taking a deep breath, he bent, wriggling his way up the back of the shirt like some kind of eel, doing his best to ignore the now obvious laughter of his teammates.

When he finally got his head out of the neck-hole, his body was pressed right up against Kuroo’s — there wasn’t even room to move.

The coaches seemed satisfied, if not slightly amused. On the other side of the gym, the guys were clutching their stomachs and covering their mouths, barely holding back their laughter. Tsukishima and Kuroo stood there awkwardly, squashed into the old jersey, a mildewy scent rising up around them.

“Alright,” Nekomata said, smirking. “I don’t care where you sit or stand or whatever, just keep back from the court.”

“Stay in there for one hour. Not a minute less,” Ukai added.

With that, the coaches walked away, chuckling, leaving Kuroo and Tsukishima swaying behind them like some kind of tree gone horribly wrong.

Kuroo tried to take a step forward, but Tsukishima wouldn’t budge.

“Oy, specs. Work with me here.”

A vein pulsed in Tsukishima’s forehead. “Why should I?”

“Do you want to stand here forever?” he said. “Come on. Let’s go over by that wall.”

As much as Tsukishima would’ve liked to resist, he was reluctant to do anything that might get him more time in this god-forsaken jersey. “Fine,” he snarled. “Whatever.”

They waddled along awkwardly — kind of like a penguin — their teammates pointing and laughing as they went. When they finally reached the far wall, Tsukishima was blushing again, sweat beading on his brow. But Kuroo appeared unruffled. He even seemed a little entertained, which irked Tsukishima even more.

When the game started up again, their teammates forgot about them, focusing instead on the match. Tsukishima tried to focus on the game too; anything to take his mind off of Kuroo, and how _close_ they were to each other, crammed into one shirt as they were. Tsukishima was completely flush with him — there wasn't even room for air. He could feel every last bit of Kuroo’s back and butt, and — since they were almost the same height — he knew Kuroo must feel every last bit of him too.

There is was: that _weird_ feeling.

 _Dammit,_ Tsukishima thought. _This had to happen right after that conversation…_ It was almost like Kuroo had planned it. He’d cornered Tsukishima in the club room, talked about being gay, and then there had been that stupid dream…

 _Shit. Don’t think about it._ Tsukishima checked his expression, staring intently at the court, but it was no use: it was getting hotter. What was more, Kuroo kept moving. Writhing. Stretching. It was almost as if he were doing it on purpose.

“Oy,” Tsukishima hissed. “Quit it.”

“Quit what?”

Tsukishima bit back the urge to hit him. “ _Moving._ ”

Kuroo scratched his chest. “I’m itchy.”

“No. You’re not.”

“How would you know?”

Tsukishima’s jaw hurt from clenching it. _Forget it. Just watch the game…_ Hinata was running around in front of the net, trying to pin down the spikers. Asahi was… _Fuck._ He couldn’t focus. Kuroo was at it again, wiggling all around, as though oblivious to the fact that they were stuffed into a goddamn _shirt_ together. Little flashes of the dream kept coming back to Tsukishima, poking at him like needles.

When he felt himself begin to rise, he panicked.

 _Shit…shit…no…Kageyama…watch him…toss…receive…_ Tsukishima took a deep breath, trying to think zen thoughts…

Fuck it all. This was not happening. He wasn’t just some guy.

_Spike…_

He was Tsukishima Kei.

_Block…_

He wasn’t about to be beaten by his own body.

_Serve…_

Kuroo scratched yet another itch, his butt squishing against Tsukishima’s crotch.

_Shit. Fuck!_

There was no denying it, and there was no undoing it: he was hard. And because of the jersey, his erection was jammed right up against Kuroo’s ass. There was no possible way he hadn’t noticed. Watching Kuroo out of the corner of his eye, Tsukishima waited, his stomach heavy as lead.

Kuroo didn’t react at first. He watched the game. He stretched. He yawned. He even hummed to himself a little. If anything, his lack of reaction was even more infuriating than the fact that this was happening in the first place.

Tsukishima felt like he was boiling up inside — he wanted to punch him more than ever. But he schooled his expression, determined to keep his cool this time. He wasn’t going to let this guy get the better of him.

“So,” Kuroo remarked, “not gay, huh?”

Tsukishima bit the inside of his cheek, holding back a stream of curses. “It’s a natural reaction.”

“Sure it is.”

 _This guy…_ Suspension suddenly seemed a small price to pay for the pleasure of head-butting him. “What did you think was going to happen?” Tsukishima hissed. “You’re wiggling around like…like a…” he trailed off.

“Cat got your tongue?” Kuroo glanced back at him then, his eyes sparkling. “It’s okay. You can jerk off if you want. I don’t mind.

Tsukishima’s red cheeks went even redder. “There’s no way in hell—”

“Suit yourself. But keep in mind,” Kuroo nodded at the clock, “we’ve still got fifty more minutes in this jersey.”

 _Fifty more fucking minutes._ Tsukishima felt like he was being torn apart. He was angry at himself, angry at Kuroo, frustrated at their situation, at this damn jersey — everything. But he was also aroused. And thinking about the dream. And hating himself for it.

And Kuroo was still wiggling.

“Fucking… _stop._ ”

“Stop what?”

Tsukishima closed his eyes. “Stop…moving…”

But Kuroo was rubbing his butt up against Tsukishima’s erection now, forcing Tsukishima to bite his cheek even harder. There was no way this was accidental! Tsukishima’s head was spinning, his legs were shaking, and his erection was sticking up like a steel pole. He kept glancing up at the team, at the coaches. They were only fifty feet away.

What had he done to deserve this? Why did Kuroo hate him so much? And why did he have _that_ kind of dream about the guy who hated him?

The dream-soft memory of lips came back to him then, stroking him like a gentle hand on his thigh. Unfortunately, Kuroo arched his back at the exact same moment. Tsukishima shuddered, then flinched, knowing that Kuroo must’ve felt him.

“I could jerk you off, you know,” Kuroo said quietly.

“Fuck…no…”

“What are you gonna do when we have to take the jersey off?”

Tsukishima didn’t respond.

“You won’t jerk yourself off,” said Kuroo, “so that leaves only one option.”

“Fuck your option.”

Kuroo smirked. “Just trust me, specs. You’ll thank me later.”

Tsukishima was about to protest when he felt something — a hand — on his cock, fondling him through his clothes. He went very still, holding his breath. The other guys, the coaches, they were so close. There was no way they’d fail to notice…

“So quiet all of a sudden…” Kuroo muttered.

“ _Fuck_ you.”

“Maybe later,” Kuroo rebutted, grabbing hold of his shaft through his shorts, using the silky-smooth cloth like a kind of sleeve, stroking him.

Tsukishima just barely held back a gasp. His cock was still squashed up against Kuroo’s ass, but now Kuroo was stroking him too, and he was picking up the pace. Schooling his features, Tsukishima pretended to watch the match as his nerves caught fire, his entire body becoming hot and frightening and unfamiliar.

Kuroo hummed to himself as he fondled him, his expression completely at odds with his hidden actions. Tsukishima’s chest was pressed up against his back; Kuroo could feel his every heart beat, he was sure, and his heart only thumped harder as Kuroo continued to play with him, his fingers squeezing the tip of Tsukishima’s cock through the thin fabric. Tsukishima quivered with the effort of holding it all in; the pleasure was making his hands go numb.

“You seem to be enjoying this,” Kuroo murmured.

Tsukishima couldn’t speak. He could hardly even think. _Why me…_

“You should thank me,” Kuroo said. “I’m doing you a favor.”

Something broke inside of Tsukishima then. Kuroo’s tone hadn’t been particularly scathing — if anything it had been flippant — but Tsukishima broke all the same, tears pricking his eyes. _What’s happening?_ His limbs seized up then, his orgasm surging. He bit his lip as he came, soiling the inside of his shorts as Kuroo squeezed him; it was a miracle he was even able to keep still. He kept his eyes on the court, inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling, until finally he finished, every last limb shaking with adrenaline.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears to disappear. He prayed that no one would notice, especially not Kuroo.

“That was quick, specs,” Kuroo said. “I’m disappointed.”

“Bastard,” Tsukishima husked.

Kuroo chuckled.

There was nothing to be done about the wet spot; both of them had to put up with it for forty more minutes. The match ended after thirty, but of course, Kuroo and Tsukishima had to serve out their sentence. They stood there, packed like two tall sardines, as both teams filed out of the gym, heading for the club room.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon, Tsukki!” Yamaguchi called as they left.

Tsukishima didn’t even look up at him.

“Your boyfriend misses you,” Kuroo mocked.

Tsukishima flinched, but he didn’t retort.

“What’s the matter? Run out of smart things to say?”

Tsukishima said nothing. What could he say? Oddly enough, he didn’t really even feel angry anymore. _What is this feeling?_ It was unfamiliar — alien. It was cold. And it hurt.

The coaches stuck around, talking with each other as the minutes dragged by. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tsukishima had stopped counting. He just wanted to sink into the ground and never emerge again.

At long last, coach Ukai came to help them out of the jersey. The only thing Tsukishima was grateful for, however, was his black shorts. They’d probably hide the stain. If not, his shirt might have been long enough to hide it.

“Learn something?” Coach Nekomata barked.

“Sure did, Coach,” Kuroo said.

“Tsukishima?”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled.

“Alright then,” said Ukai. “Go on, now. And don’t even think about fighting again. If you do, I’ll make an hour seem short.”

Kuroo strode out of the gym, whistling, Tsukishima plodding behind him. If he could’ve gone straight home, he would’ve, but thanks to Kuroo, he needed to change. He stared at the hard ground as he went, wishing to be rid of Kuroo as quickly as possible. He’d just change and leave, simple as that. Nothing else would happen. Nothing…

When they were alone in the club room, however, Tsukishima realized how naive that hope had been.

“You owe me now, specs,” Kuroo drawled, closing his locker. “I don’t just give those things out for free.”

Tsukishima took off his shirt, gritting his teeth.

“Oy. It’s no use pretending you don’t hear me.”

Tsukishima’s hands were shaking.

“Hey, on the bright side, you’ll finally be able to rela—”

“You fucking _asshole_!” Tsukishima shouted, rounding on him.

“Ooh. You gonna attack me again?”

“Don’t think I won’t.”

Kuroo sneered. “You wanna get back in the shirt that bad?”

“Why do you hate me so much?!” Tsukishima bellowed. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Kuroo scoffed. “You’re nothing special.”

 _Bastard…_ Tsukishima clenched his fists, wishing he could just punch him. “I…you…” Tsukishima couldn’t get the words out. His tongue was made of wood. But the worst part was that his eyes stung.

Kuroo’s eyes widened.

Horrified, Tsukishima turned away, trying for all the world to act as though nothing was happening. But it was no use: the tears poured down his cheeks, and his body shaking with suppressed sobs. A low, keening noise escaped him, only adding to his humiliation.

“Oy…”

“Leave!” Tsukishima cried. “You can’t just…you can’t just _do_ that to people. You can’t just ask someone out…and then…and then…” words were failing him. What was he saying? He didn’t even know. He was weeping now — he was a mess — and he just wanted Kuroo to leave him alone.

But Kuroo didn’t leave. He took a step forward, then another. His expression had changed completely: he looked afraid. When he reached Tsukishima, he stretched out a hand, touching his shoulder. But Tsukishima recoiled.

“I said _go_!”

“Specs…” Kuroo paused, correcting himself. “Um…Tsuki…shima….”

Tsukishima hugged himself, willing his tears to stop, begging the gods to make Kuroo disappear.

“I…shit,” Kuroo muttered. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean…fuck…”

 _Why won’t he leave?_ He was about to turn around and give Kuroo a piece of his mind when he felt a tug on his arm.

Kuroo forced Tsukishima to turn around, bringing them face to face.

Tsukishima glowered at him. “You—”

But Kuroo silenced him with a kiss.

It was a soft kiss. A slow kiss. Tsukishima felt as though he’d been turned into a statue. After several long moments, Kuroo withdrew, gazing into his eyes.

“I…I like you…Tsukishima…” Kuroo said. “I…I didn’t mean for it to…I didn’t realize you felt this bad…”

“I’m supposed to buy that?” Tsukishima whispered.

“I’m really bad at this,” Kuroo said. “I’m terrible at this. I…I didn’t mean to...to _actually_ hurt you.”

Tsukishima stared at him, amazed. This Kuroo was completely different. The facade had crumbled, revealing a scared, blushing boy that seemed more like a starting first year than a third year captain. Kuroo glanced up at Tsukishima awkwardly. Tsukishima wiped at his eyes, taking deep breaths. He couldn’t think of what to say. Was this just another one of his jokes?

But Kuroo didn’t look like he was joking. He looked genuinely worried. Still, Tsukishima couldn’t bring himself to trust. “I don’t understand,” he said, searching Kuroo’s face.

“Shit,” Kuroo cursed. “This is hard. Um…I just…I really like you, Tsukishima. I’m…I’m gay, actually. I’ve known since forever.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“I _like_ you. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

“You don’t act like you like me,” Tsukishima muttered.

Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right. It’s my fault. I understand if you hate me. I just…I took it too far. I don’t know…I’ve never…” Kuroo sighed. “I’ve never felt like this before. It’s making me kind of…crazy.”

Tsukishima glanced up at him. The weight in his chest was getting lighter somehow.

“I did this all wrong, I know. I let it get out of hand. I’m…I’m sorry.”

Tsukishima peeked up at him through his lashes. “For what?”

Kuroo swallowed. “For picking on you…”

“And?”

“And…um…”

“Did you forget the part where you jerked me off in the middle of the gymnasium without my permission?” Tsukishima growled.

Kuroo flushed. “I thought you liked that.”

Tsukishima flushed angrily. “Of course I didn’t like it! We were in the middle of the gym! And…and we hadn’t even kissed yet.”

“How was I supposed to kiss you after you rejected me?” Kuroo pouted.

Tsukishima stiffened. “T-That came out of nowhere. You can’t just accost someone in the locker room and…and accuse them of being gay, and then expect them to go out with you. Especially when you haven’t done anything except make fun of them…”

“Oh?” Kuroo’s eyes lit up. “Then how do I do it?”

“I-I don’t know…”

“Tell me,” Kuroo purred. He took a small step closer to Tsukishima, halving the space between them. “How do I ask someone out?”

Kuroo’s arm went around Tsukishima’s waist, his eyes completely different; they were _fearless_ now. Tsukishima’s legs felt wobbly. For once, Kuroo didn’t seem to be hiding anything, and Tsukishima found that he couldn’t look away.

“Well…um…you would definitely not make fun of that person…”

“Okay.”

“You would…say something nice…and normal…to them…”

“Like what?”

“I…um…maybe a compliment…or something…”

Kuroo came in close all of a sudden. His lips were right next to Tsukishima’s ear. “Maybe I’d tell you that I like that serious face of yours…that it turns me on…”

Tsukishima swallowed. “Y-You definitely wouldn’t force them into such an awkward situation with the jersey…and you would apologize about it afterward…”

“I’m sorry about the jersey thing,” Kuroo said, so close now that their chests were touching. “I’m an idiot. I was just thinking with my co—”

“ _And_ you would…you would kiss him. To make up for it,” Tsukishima said quietly, glancing away from Kuroo’s face; his eyes were too intense, and Tsukishima was too embarrassed — he couldn’t believe he’d said such a thing.

Kuroo chuckled. “Can’t fuck that up,” he whispered, leaning in.

This kiss was different; Tsukishima could feel his tongue. It was gentle, not too insistent, and he couldn’t help but yield to it, and to the gentle pressure of Kuroo’s hand on the small of his back. The weird feeling was back in full force, but it was different, somehow; transformed. It was...kind of...nice. When Kuroo's hand came up to cradle his head, a pleasant tremor passed through him, and he felt Kuroo groan. The sounds of their breathing filled the room as they kissed, time and stress and space melting away as their hips pressed together, their hearts beating in tandem.

When Kuroo finally leaned back, the aura around them changed. They gazed into each other’s eyes; Tsukishima was half-convinced he was dreaming again. Everything felt so warm and soft, as though the very air around them were glowing.

“So…” Kuroo murmured. “Do you think someone might go out with me now?”

“I don’t know,” Tsukishima said quietly. “It depends…”

“Maybe we can start small,” said Kuroo, bending to kiss his neck, then his collar bone. “A phone number's small, right?”

Tsukishima gasped as Kuroo kissed him, his cheeks pinking. “Y-Yeah.”

Straightening, Kuroo kissed his lips once more, and Tsukishima melted into him. The minutes ticked by, too fast now, the walls of the club room memorizing the sounds of their moist kisses and stifled moans as the sun sank lower in the sky. They only parted when Kuroo’s phone rang, shocking them both out of their embrace.

It was Kenma.

“Shit. The bus is probably leaving,” Kuroo said. “Quick, give me your number.”

Taking a deep breath, Tsukishima gave it to him. Kuroo left hurriedly after that, kissing him one last time before booking it out of the club room. Tsukishima stayed behind, leaning back against the lockers and closing his eyes, a smile he couldn't suppress spreading across his face.

Later, when Tsukishima was home in bed, Kuroo sent him a message.

[ _So do you have weekends off? And do you like ice cream?_ ]

Despite everything, Tsukishima couldn’t help smiling. He would never admit it to Kuroo, but he did feel more relaxed — more relaxed than he could ever remember feeling.

[ _Yes and yes._ ]

That night, he dreamt about a jersey, and the smell of mildew.

 

**Author's Note:**

> About the author: haha, not much to say. I just like to write, and I like when people like my stuff. FYI I’m on both tumblr and twitter as inkleafclover.


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